


Stay Home

by cjtheshort



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fluff, Gratuitous Architecture Description, Headcanon galore, Just a sweet fic about nice things, M/M, Possibly AU, a few OCs - Freeform, old married spirk, oms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 05:32:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjtheshort/pseuds/cjtheshort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home isn't always a place, sometimes it's a person or a moment. </p><p>But at least buildings aren't so easily destroyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Home

**Author's Note:**

> So this was written for a writing challenge and I decided to post it here since it's been a stretch since I posted anything. The word was 'architecture' so, prepare for lots of house description.  
> 

"Jim, I do not understand the purpose of forcing me to walk blind." Spock protested for the fifth time since they had stepped out of the shuttle. Jim had jumped in front of him and told him to close his eyes before leading him by the sleeve of his robe like an excited child. Spock had yet to trip or stumble, guided by Jim's soft warnings of 'rock here' or 'steep there', but this still wasn't a very comfortable experience.

"Okay, okay, just-" Jim stopped him, gently pressing his hands to Spock's narrow hips to move him to the side a little, and then a step back. After a final positioning, Jim moved away. Spock heard him give a contented sigh, electric excitement pouring through the bond as he heard Jim clap his hands together. "Okay, open 'em."

"Open what?" Spock asked innocently, tilting his head to the side.

"Your eyes." Jim gave an affectionate sigh as Spock looked up at his lovely bond-mate standing before empty beige scrub lands with his arms stretched out; tall red mountains rolling behind him, as the sun set his graying golden hair into a halo of light. Spock blinked at the scene for a moment before looking around them. More scrub land, more mountains to the left, and to the right he could see Little Vulcan dancing in the mirages, the white temple rising high against the orange-red surrounding it.

He looked back to Jim, whose smile only widened and he held his arms a little higher in anticipation. "Huh? C'mon, what do you think?" He grinned.

"It is sand wastes." Spock said simply, tucking his hands into his robes to save them from the chill of the desert in June.

"No," Jim groaned, throwing his arms down in a dramatic effect before he turned to gesture out to the empty, flat land. "It's our home!" He stated, putting his fists proudly on his hips, lifting his chin proudly.

Once again, Spock was quiet for a beat. "This is not our home," He corrected softly, his budding confusion and worry touching through the bond as he stepped forward.

"But it will be!" Jim beamed as he spun around, taking Spock's shoulders like he always had. "Picture it," He said, lifting one hand to wave through the air, painting his vision on the scenery. "It'll be two stories, with lots of big windows so you can see everything. The outside will be made out of that stuff that looks like clay. And we'll have a balcony on the front and a huge deck over the back porch. Flower boxes on all the lower windows, and those big cacti on either side of the walk way, just like you want. Then we'll-"

But Spock's eyes were on Jim's excited smile and shining eyes rather than his waving hand. Nothing but all the good things Spock had still yet to sort out poured over the bond, making his own heart beat a little faster with enthusiasm in his side. No matter how grey Jim's hair got, or how crows feet crinkled the edges of his eyes or how stiff his captain's swagger became, his spirit stayed as bright and as youthful as the day they met. His soul bathed Spock's in light and warmth, held it tightly through all the storms of loss and tragedy, and without it, Spock knew he would have faded away long ago.

"-and I'm going to build it." Jim said, snapping Spock out of his light trance.

"Build it?" Spock questioned, tilting his head to the side as he raised a brow.

  
"Yeah, I'm going to build it from the ground up, all by myself, with my bare hands!" Jim shook his fists with vigor for added effect.

"But Jim, certain things _will_ require tools if not a much more skilled or experienced hand-" Spock started on one of his rather soothing rants about the sheer lack of logic to the very human style of wording. It was his only way to process this. But Jim cut him off by pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"You know what I mean." He smiled affectionately at him, reaching up to comb at Spock's neat hair that was on the verge of salt and pepper. "All details aside, I'm building you a house." And despite how illogical it was, with the time required and the money involved, the fact they already had suitable housing, not to mention how Jim was much older than he thought he was, Spock just let one of the smiles he only allowed Jim to spread across his lips.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first few months they stayed at their 'old' apartment, as Jim had already taken to calling it, he'd take the shuttle everyday after work to the Mojave to help the few hired workers, as if he was a construction king rather than a starship captain, and come home to fill Spock in about every little detail over dinner. Verbally, of course, and sharing what he considered very important through the bond so Spock could actually experience it. 

Once a week, Spock would come with him and stand with his hands in his sleeves while he watched his mate dance around the concrete base and tall beams, gesturing here and waving there as he painted vibrant pictures of the wonderful home he had in store for him. Then he'd sit with Spock as they meditated together, marking their energies, their souls, into the very foundation. Spock found himself looking forward to these trips, getting a warm feeling in his soul at seeing Jim, vibrant and alive, knowing their once adventurous and unpredictable life had decayed into paperwork and monotony of being a teaching admiral and holding ambassadorship.

Jim had built up a tremendous amount of vacation time when he was finally able to actually help build. Going to a lame job was better than sitting around their apartment, but building was better than both combined; and with beer added. He'd come home covered in desert sand and sawdust, but a wide grin on his face and a skip in his step. Callouses built on his aged hands, he was often nursing sunburns or cuts and Spock found himself with his hands on Jim's shoulders or lower back everyday, rubbing away the pain.

Not that he was complaining. Jim's energy felt so vibrant now that he was watching something grow because of him again. It also had been bringing them together like old times, Spock would be straddling Jim's waist, working the knots out of his back to his mate's pleased groans-then he'd find their bodies interlocked and Jim's moans heated and needy. Jim finally slept through the night rather than getting up at 2 am to watch soap operas, letting Spock fall asleep in his mate's arms and wake up there. Their rather glum domestic conversation had picked up, not to mention how good it felt to argue again over where the shoes were supposed to go or whether or not something needed medical attention.

Once the bones of the house were set up, Spock started coming with his mate to help raise the walls and lay down flooring with his never ending superior strength. Something about an old Vulcan in overalls and flannel amused both Jim and the construction crew. While working, Jim would often treat the construction crew to his singing, which made all of them except for Spock thankful for the sound of running saws and sanders. He found mixing grout and laying it over the tiles in the bathroom and kitchen rather relaxing, even meditative, with the repetitive motions of dipping and swiping.

Jim made sure to eliminate unnecessary people, not cruelly, of course. He was a gentleman was always, thanking every person for their hard work and company, but he obviously wanted this to be as much between Spock and himself as possible. Their energies were already wrapped securely in every detail, but Jim wanted more, just for Spock to feel. This was his house, after all.

When they set the clay on the outside of the house, it was their biggest task where Jim would often get side-tracked and start writing things in the soft clay. 'JTK + STS = ALWAYS' with a heart around it by the back door where the deck would be was one that Jim 'forgot to smooth out'. So it was set in the hard clay forever, and Spock didn't care. He ran his fingers over it, kissing their initials with his fingertips when he found it before looking up at Jim who was pretending he hadn't been watching.

Painting the interior walls was another task Spock found relaxing. Up and down, up and down, listening contentedly to Jim's pleasant humming ~~\--~~ until he felt paint splatter against his thigh. He looked up at Jim, confused to if it was an accident while the tiniest, lingering part of him wondered if he did something wrong and deserved the attack. Of course, Jim's playful grin washed away those thoughts.

"Jim?" Spock asked, as he usually did to prompt an explanation while he turned to face him.

"C'mon," Jim grinned devilishly, flicking his paint brush at his mate, robin's egg blue splattering across Spock's flannel shirt. "You're not just gonna take that, are you?"

Spock arched a brow, looking at him for a moment before deciding to indulge his human. "No." He said simply, taking his roller brush to press against Jim's side, making the admiral yelp a laugh before flicking more paint at him. It was illogical, a waste of resources, time, energy and most of all, Spock didn't completely understand the point of play-fighting, but with Jim's delight setting their bond to bloom, Spock couldn't care less.

Jim slung more paint at him, chuckling as he tried to dodge another one of Spock's jabs, running right into his fake-out. "That's not fair!" He cried when he got a long stripe of robin's egg across his chest. "You have an advantage!" He danced around him until he was able to paint his left cheek blue.

Spock quickly dropped his pole in favor of scooping up a giggling Jim and purring loudly as he rubbed his painted cheek against Jim's. His human groaned and protested playfully, feebly pushing at his chest as Spock only kept smearing paint all over his mate's face. Jim looked up at him when he was done, his mock-scowl interrupted by the affection glowing in his eyes and the curve of the corners of his mouth.

"It's a good thing I love you." Jim stated grumpily, making Spock purr and press their foreheads together with a soft 'indeed'. They stood their for a long moment, Jim cradled against Spock's chest, enjoying the silence and stillness that came with their very own home. No more noisy neighbors disturbing Spock's meditation, no more noise complaints over occasional Jim's nightmare, no more conflicting energies or stolen mail. It was all theirs. All Spock's. They could slow dance at 3 AM, Spock could play his harp for as long as he wanted, Jim could sing at the top of his lungs. They could cook their spicy Vulcan dishes all they wanted and not have to worry about someone getting annoyed with their chirping houseplants.

Jim leaned away from him, looking up at Spock's messy hair with his aged face smudged with paint and only adoration in his tired eyes. "I love you." He said softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips before looking around soon-to-be bedroom. "And I love this house."

"It is truly going to be a lovely home." Spock agreed, resting his chin atop Jim's head. "Thank you." He closed his eyes to feel their energy soaking into the half-bare walls. Their home. From the very essence, it was _their_ home. And it only got better the more they worked. They had more paint battles, slow dances in the middle of working and all the songs they could think to sing.

Sometimes an old friend would stop by, usually Bones who offered unhelpful criticism along with his first aid to smashed thumbs or bumped heads. Scotty dropped by and they all ended up sitting around in the half finished kitchen sipping Macallan scotch and nibbling Amedei Porcelana dark chocolate while re-telling old stories and embellishing new ones.

Uhura stopped by and helped paint the halls while singing up a storm with Jim as Spock strummed along with his harp, forced to sit down with his twisted ankle. Sulu had helped them find a reputable nursery for their garden plants while Chekov informed them off all the latest home appliances, most of which were of Russian 'inwention'.

Eventually, their home was finished. Nine months, fifteen days, two hours and forty-four seconds after Jim's reveal. Last window put in, the final wall painted, end of the stubbed toes, and all their furniture settled in. It was just as Jim imagined. Two stories, the same orange-beige color as the desert surrounding them, with large windows on the top floor reflecting the clear sky with smaller ones on the lower level with window boxes filled with vine-y plants that spilled over onto the ground. There was a small rock garden on either side of the winding footpath leading to the door with various small cacti planted in it with some of the more durable Vulcan vegetation that could stand the cold.

On the back they their large deck, with more bright Vulcan vines growing around some cheap modern art pipe sculptures Jim had found while rummaging for antique books to line their shelves in San Francisco. It was wide, made of recycled materials at Spock's insistence, spanning from one side of the house to the other. It hosted the grill, plenty of red padded benches set against the railing and a large antique glass table for outside dining. Jim's initial marking was the crown jewel beside the sliding glass doors.

Below the deck was the shady patio, surrounded with a low stone fence to protect the garden and give the vines somewhere to climb. But inside was what Spock loved the most. Three bedrooms, four bath to host guests with a sprawling kitchen that gave them plenty of room to dry their exotic spices and grow their kitchen herbs. Years in space eating rather bland replicated food gave them a nice excuse to get carried away. The walls were a beige with dark brown cabinets made of a swirling wood and polished dark rust sandstone cut through with tan and black all the way from Vulcan laid the counters and curved entertaining island in the middle. All the fixtures were silver and the table in the matching walled dining room separated by a large arching doorway was Spock's mother's. The dark wood held more memories than could be counted, and when Spock brushed his fingers over the traditionally cut wood, the energy almost overwhelmed him.

The lower floor was mostly for entertaining, with the guest bedrooms, kitchen and hosting the roomy livingroom decorated with their various alien art and artifacts with a massive Vulcan rug in the center, woven with plant fibers that were almost the same texture as cotton, but varied in brown and red tones. The walls were a soothing, warm white, all the rooms painted in according to what energy the color gave. White was blank, giving this room opportunity to host many feelings and memories.

Up the slightly curved staircase was the landing to the master bedroom and office along with a room made especially for Spock's meditation. The master bedroom was robin's egg blue as planned but all their furniture had been repainted white at last minute. The blue was soothing and calm, while the white simply was a nice contrast. The bed looked most out of place in the rather uniform room. Spock's black heating blanket peeked out from under the light green spread on his side with his sehlat's pelt thrown over the top. There was also a thick woven mat on Spock's side of the bed to protect his feet from the cold hardwood while he put on his slippers.

They had gotten carried away with the bathroom, putting in a shower with two heads on opposite walls, his and his sinks and a large claw foot tub that could handle both Jim's long soaks and Spock's sandbaths with it's two drains, one engineered for sand to be dumped into a recycler in the basement. Not to mention the separate heating unit set in just to keep Spock comfortable.

The office took up most of the upper floor as it was in the middle and the front balcony had been removed in favor of it. It was big enough to fit both of them comfortably, as both of them were getting older and the bond needed more close contact. Jim was on the right, facing the large windows so he could look over the open desert and Spock on the left, facing the door as he enjoyed the warm sun on his back, not in his face. This room was a cerulean blue to promote productivity, covered in holos of the Enterprise, the crew then and now with memorable birthdays and weddings and of course Sarek and Amanda right along side of Sam and Aurelan with their growing sons.

Spock's meditation room was the smallest, the walls lined with impressionable woven mats with a large window to his back, heavy black curtains tied to either side of it. His battered altar that had lasted him through the decades was the crown jewel, lasting from his last years at the Starfleet Academy through the Five Year Mission and far beyond. The thick black mat Jim had specially made for him and the box holding a diverse pick of incense were the only other things occupying it. Spock had built this room himself and Jim made sure to stay out of it and not disturb the sterile energy for his purging.

 And their first night in their brand new home was spent with friends that felt like family with toasts all around and half-remembered songs being sang loud enough to echo in the far off canyons. But there were no neighbors banging on walls or phone calls telling them to keep it down. There were no elbows in stomachs while trying to fit in the kitchen, and most importantly, plenty of room in the livingroom for everyone to wake up in the morning with headaches and grumbles of ' _I'm definitely not twenty anymore_ ' while Bones rolled his eyes at what light-weights they were being.

Once everyone was sent away with headache fixes and thanks with well wishes in return, Jim sighed contently as he leaned against Spock as they stood in the doorway, watching Bones' shuttle leave. "You know..." Jim said, looking up at Spock with his hair flat on one side from sleeping with his head on the coffee table. "We never did get to try out the master bedroom." 

Spock only raised an eyebrow, letting Jim lead him up their stairs and sitting still while he kissed all over him, waiting patiently for the moment he knew was coming, which was when Jim fell asleep in the middle of trying to stretch seductively back on the bed. Spock simply covered him up and went downstairs to clean up the mess from the party before coming back to join him.

 

* * *

 

The older Jim became, the more he was made to work from home. Which was something Spock was glad of, as his human would be closer to him more often and in an environment he deemed safe and secure. Of course, this made Jim feel like a caged animal. There was nothing for him to do besides his paperwork, the usual household tasks and tend to their garden. Which is when Jim decided to take up a hobby.

It happened when they were standing in line at the grocery store, Spock listening to his mate shuffle behind him, both trying to keep himself occupied and distribute the weight on his aching legs and feet. Jim was reading the back of candy bars before looking up at the advertisement screens overhead. "Hey, look," He said, drawing Spock's attention as he pointed up at them. "A woodworking class right there in Little Vulcan." 

"It appears so." Spock nodded, looking at the bright green ad that was covered with smiling humans hammering a table and a stone faced Vulcan child who was holding up a bird house. 'ALL AGES!!! WEEKDAYS FOR ADULT CLASSES, FREE WEEKENDS FOR KIDS, SENIOR DISCOUNT!!!' it read in large white letters. 

"Today's a weekday." Jim said ever so casually, looking at Spock through the corner of his eye. 

"Indeed. Wednesday." Spock agreed, looking down at how Jim had his hands tucked into his pockets with his wrists buckled, that odd gesture he did when he wanted-didn't-want something. "Would you like to attend?" He asked, making Jim purse his lips, as if he had to think on the subject. 

"Weeeeeell, I did finish all my work for the day and you'll be at that thing later so..." He shrugged, looking up at his mate. "Yeah. Maybe." And that was the first day to a long, long love affair. 

Jim made Spock shelves and holo frames and then end tables and a coffee table and new patio chairs before surprising him with a brand new desk and a second dresser. After he had just about remade all their furniture, he started making utensils. Polished wood cooking spoons and large salad bowls and with matching tongs and even a wide mouthed cup made just for Spock's 'bowls' of tea.

And then, wood had been conquered just as a new pottery place moved in the next down over. So Spock had all the vases he could hope for with new pots for his plants and mugs and cups and bowls that had a sleek professional appearance with more love packed into them than a Mother's Day craft mess. And he treated everything his ashayam made as if it were sacred. 

It felt wonderful to Spock, when he would sit in the livingroom and feel all the love and care Jim put into the sleek oak coffee table. Or working at his desk while feeling the warmth mixing with excited anticipation coming from the wood. Even the tea mug in his hands had a tender energy to it. If only the energy in the room was the same. 

"Spock, I'll be fine." Jim assured for what felt like the five thousandth time as he smoothed out his dress uniform. "It's going to be simple, we just sit around and talk peace, sign a treaty and it's over." He shrugged, looking over his shoulder at him. "You know how it goes."  
  
"Of course, but the Litchul people are very paranoid and secretive, they may not agree to anything. It would have been a wasted effort." Spock said simply, sipping from his tea as Jim turned around, eyeing the Vulcan. 

"...How come you don't want me to go?" Jim asked him, keeping his voice and face neutral. Spock just blinked at him, managing to keep his thoughts on his side of the bond. Ever since he heard of this treaty coming into place, he had an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach that he could not soothe or purge. 

"It'll be fine," Jim said, stepping forward to put his hands on Spock's shoulders where he was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. "It'll be a few hours at the most, you'll have Julius to keep you company until I get back and then I'll tell you all about it over chess. Okay?" He asked, kissing the top of his head. "See you, t'hy'la."

"Good-bye, my Jim." Spock said, trying not to let dread fill his heart as it thumped in his side. He sat there in the kitchen, listening to the silence long after Jim had closed the door. Until a soft knock made him stand up to answer it. 

"Hello, Julius." Spock greeted, making the Academy freshman grin up at him. 

"Hey, Uncle Spock, did Uncle Jim leave already?" He asked as he stepped in, setting his backpack on the ground as he tried to rub the desert heat out of his strawberry blonde hair. 

"Yes, he left-" Spock glanced up at the clock. "Two hours ago. You are quiet late." He tucked his hands into his sleeves as the boy rubbed the back of his neck.

"I...kinda got lost." Julius muttered before looking back up with that wide grin of his. "I ended up in Vegas! Did you know you can't go into a casino unless you're twenty-one? I was just asking for directions, I swear!" He laughed as he followed Spock into the kitchen, hopping up to sit on one of the stools and spinning around and around. 

"How are your brothers?" Spock asked as he started tidying up his and Jim's breakfast mess.

"Oh, you know, Peter's a lieutenant commander now, Alex published something about Andorian blood types-" Julius stopped when he noticed the way Spock twitched suddenly. "Uncle Spock? Are you-"

Spock fell to his knees, one hand gripping tightly in his own hair as the other pressed to his chest, swearing he could feel his heart struggling to beat there as a searing pain accompanied it. It was Jim's heart struggling. He could feel his own world getting darker, his own limbs going numb, he gasped the same desperate breaths as Jim, feeling his t'hy'la's death and final thought before it all went dark and silent. 

_'Should have stayed home.'_

 

 


End file.
